


Balsfjorden Night

by duskodair



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Denmark’s dodgy knitting, F/F, Moonlit boat date, Northern Lights, pure fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-05-13 11:24:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14747900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duskodair/pseuds/duskodair
Summary: A moonlit boat outing is just one of many when the northern lights are one of your wife’s favourite things.





	Balsfjorden Night

The moon was waxing in a cold northern sky, framed in glittering starlight and the vibrant waves of an aurora. Pale tracks of moonlight shone across the calm surface of Balsfjorden as a small wooden boat drifted over the icy water. It was the night of the equinox, summer was calming down, and the two inhabitants of the boat were preparing for the ice of winter.

Norway’s eyes were closed as she lay in the taller nation’s arms. Denmark’s eyes were open wide as she stared at the swirling patterns in the sky. The night was cold, not yet bitterly cold, but cold all the same, so the pair were wrapped in hand woven blankets and age old quilts, whilst the oars for the boat lay under their feet.

It was late, they’d had to wait for the September sun to fall, to bring a close to the long, late summer’s day. They’d watched the last hues of sunlight fall from the sky, the vibrant reds of the sunset promising warmth for the following day as deep blue swallowed the sky.

Norway opened her eyes and looked up, seeing the northern lights reflected in the shining eyes of her wife. She had seen the lights themselves for over a thousand years, but seeing them in Denmark’s eyes never grew old. Her wife was always filled with wonder at the phenomena present in Norway’s land.

The lights rarely ventured down to Denmark, preferring to shine in more northerly skies. Denmark adored them - as she adored anything that shone or sparkled - so Norway often brought her up to see them.

They’d isolate themselves from the world of politics and controversy, rent a boat, and sail as they’d always done. Once they’d reached the centre of the fjord they’d settle in their boat, drop a small anchor, stow their oars, and unpack the small picnic they’d prepared.

They mostly brought the same food, bread and salted fish; food that they had lived on all their lives. They packed apples and strawberries as the years wore on and fresh food became accessible, allowing for sweetness besides each other.

Even though they always packed their food basket together, Denmark always managed to hide a bunch of heather and daisies in the basket for Norway. Every time they went for a moonlit picnic, Denmark managed it, no matter how attentively Norway watched the basket. Denmark also always managed to pack a small jar of fresh water for the flowers, so that they could stand up in the moonlight, the jar insulated with some of Denmark’s chunky knitting in an attempt to stop it freezing.

Norway was also insulated with some of Denmark’s chunky knitting, choosing the somewhat lumpy jumper Denmark had spent more than a year knitting in secret over one of the neater ones she had made for herself. Denmark wore one of the intricately patterned jumpers that Norway had made for her over her plaid shirt, adding an extra layer of warmth and love to her outfit. Together they were warm.

They’d float, tranquil under the stars, for hours, pointing out familiar constellations to one another and the recalling ancient myths shared by their lands. Often they’d sing forgotten hymns and lullabies, archaic to their people but familiar to their mouths. Together, they’d find joy in the songs and stories they’d raised their children with, remembering their bright smiles and innocence, and the warmth of their family home.

Later they’d grow tired, so they’d raise the anchor and carefully row back to shore, moor the boat and return to the tiny cottage that Norway kept, leaving their basket on the kitchen table as Norway carried the blankets to the bedroom whilst Denmark stoked the fire they’d left burning in the wood burner.

Their coats and boots had been left by the door with the remnants of the outside cold. The curtains were drawn as the night was shut out.

The cottage was quiet, with only the gentle crackle of the fire, as the nations retreated to their bedroom. Their nearest neighbours were miles away and they found solace in one another’s silence; they had known each other too long to be perturbed by each other’s quiet.

As ever, they’d curl up together in their bed, warm and in love. Ending just another night of over a thousand years of marriage, always content in the other’s arms.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m gay and I want this.  
> This is for my own enjoyment.   
> I hope you enjoy it too.  
> It reads better if u assume Denmark has an undercut. Don’t ask why. It just does.


End file.
